highway just because she thought she owned the road.
Anyway, she couldn’t cross her arms because she clutched a Tupperware of fried chicken. Mutely, she thrust the container at him like an offering to some wild and foreign pagan god—and where the hell had that image come from? “Chicken,” she muttered. “From the Back Porch. Where I work.”
The broken fragments of speech were better than nothing and seemed to be enough for now. He leaned the shovel handle against the wall and reached to take the chicken. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She glanced down the hallway toward the front door, wishing she could run for the rectangle of sunshine. “I’m sorry I let myself in. I did knock and call out, but no one answered and there was no car here, so I thought you might be, I don’t know, in town or something. So I came in. Because I have the key.”
“Why do you have the key to my house?” His low, sexy voice purred like some big car engine, a little rough and in need of tuning but oh so powerful.
“The neighbor, Mrs. Landry, gave it to me ages ago. I was in and out so much, measuring rooms and windows, that she finally just gave me the key so I could let myself in.”
“So, what, you’re like some interior decorator or a contractor or something hired by the realty company?” His frown deepened, knitting his straight black brows together.
“No. It was… This house was supposed to be mine. I was buying it. Or, I mean, saving up to buy it. And then Jenny made a deal without talking to me first.” The bitch, she thought.
“Then you knew the house is occupied?” He glanced down at the Tupperware container in his hands as if trying to decide whether to shove it back at her. “But you came in anyway.”
Ames knew her cheeks were fire-engine red. She could feel the blood burning in them. “It was stupid. I apologize. I just wanted to…to see the place one more time before you got really moved in. I thought you were gone, so I took the opportunity.”
He moved toward her—no, sauntered or maybe stalked was the right word. His long legs glided over the floorboards, which creaked beneath his weight. Ames found herself wanting to take a step backward, but she stayed rooted to the spot until he was right in front of her, looking down into her eyes, making her feel like a mouse facing off against a tomcat. A tomcat with a devastating gaze and a scruff of stubble on his jaw that, for just an instant, she imagined rubbing roughly against her own cheek.
“I’m sorry I took your house.” One corner of his mouth slightly quirked upward.
“I’m sorry I broke into yours.” She smiled back and an odd moment of connection flashed between them.
He dipped his head, acknowledging her guilt. “Well, anyway, thanks for the chicken. It smells good.”
The deep-fried scent rose between them, a small barrier of crispy crackly goodness.
“It is good. Gopher’s secret recipe. Been in his family for generations or so he claims, but I have my doubts. He’s the cook at the Back Porch. Where I work. Oh, I already told you that. I’m Ames, by the way.” Why was she babbling? At first she’d barely been able to squeeze out two words, and now she couldn’t seem to stop talking.
“Sam Allen.” He freed one of his hands from the Tupperware and stuck it out.
She took it. His palm was still warm from holding the container of chicken. Or maybe it was always that temperature. Either way, his warmth roused an answering heat in her.
She wanted to rub her hand on her jeans to dispel the sensation, but that might look rude and she’d done enough of that lately. “Okay, then. Sorry to invade your house like I did, and welcome to Arnesdale. It’s a real friendly place.”
“Yeah, I got that. A lot of food involved.”
She smiled. “If you’re a bachelor, you may never have to cook for yourself again.”
Oh great, now she sounded like Missy, sniffing around to see if he was married or not. She hadn’t meant it like that. Or maybe she had. A little.
“Hm.” He stared down at the container. “You could do me a huge favor by spreading the word among the townsfolk that I really prefer to be left alone. I don’t want them to think I’m unappreciative, but I like my privacy. Could you do that for me?”
“Um, sure.